Where the Trail Will Wind
by rg kinski
Summary: Missing scene. My take on what happens between leaving the apartment and checking into the motel.


They took the stairs two, three at a time, their boots smacking the wooden planks in unison. Jack moved towards his truck, but Ennis took him by the elbow and steered him to his own beaten heap. He knew a bar they could go to down the way he said and it would be faster if he drove. He was in a hurry. It made his heart skip a beat thinking that Jack was in a hurry, too.

Ennis pounded the steering wheel so hard as he made the turn onto the street he winced, briefly losing control of the truck. It swerved in the opposite direction Ennis was headed. He over-corrected, and the truck bounced, sending them both off their seats. They whooped like a pair of drunken buckaroos as they landed back down.

Like Ennis, Jack didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So far their conversation was made up of whoops and monosyllabic bursts of expression – damn! Fuck all! Sheeeee-it! Yes, yes, uh-huh, uh-HUH. Whoa man! The loud rattle of a tenuous transmission was amplified in the cab, drowning out the sound of Ennis giggling like a little girl, the memory of those tooth-knocking kisses on the stairs not far from his mind.

Ennis turned and gave Jack a good, long look. That damn beautiful face, wide open, not a line or a whisker on it he didn't know like the back of his own hand.

Jack made to move closer, and Ennis quickly looked away, maybe a little embarrassed, maybe a little alarmed. Worried that Jack might take offense, Ennis whooped and hit the steering wheel again and again. Jack whooped in reply, all forgiven in an instant.

More so than on the stairs, Ennis could feel his heart swelling way up to his eyeballs. He didn't realize he was crying. Jack touched his cheek and Ennis raised his hand to smack him away, but Jack caught it, pulled it to his chest and held it there. Not long before Ennis put his hand back on the steering wheel, but long enough.

Jack knew exactly what was going on, but just to get the conversation going, he said, "Where the hell is this place, Ennis? You plan on driving all the way to the next county?"

Which, in fact, was exactly where he planned to drive. He'd scoped things out days ago, looking for the perfect hide-away where a man could make up for four years of apartness.

"It ain't far, boy", he said. "You know the locals'll be all over me, and I'll be damned to share my conversation with anyone but you, tonight."

"Ennis Del Mar, you are such the gentleman," Jack said, and momentarily felt so giddy he hiccupped. Then he slid back over to his side of the cab, rolled the window down, stuck out his head and let loose with a high-pitched coyote yelp.

Ennis put his head out the window, too, but mostly to hide the tears, the faucet having turned on again.

For awhile they talked about Brokeback, the job, not the other stuff. Ennis took some time to critique Jack's shooting skills and Jack reminded Ennis that for a life-long ranch hand he sure couldn't hold his liquor.

That lit a bulb over Ennis's head. He reached under his seat and pulled out an almost full bottle of rotgut, thankful that he wouldn't have to make an unscheduled stop in case Jack was thirsty.

Jack took a quick swig. "Guess we ain't goin' to no bar out in the boonies."

"Like I said, don't need no intrusions, distractions, or detours."

And then, maybe exhausted from so much joy, the space between them went flat. They drove in silence for a stretch, passing the bottle back and forth.

Jack was reaching for the radio dial when Ennis cleared his throat for an inordinate amount of time, like he was trying to dislodge something down there. Jack leaned back in anticipation.

Face forward, staring hard into the darkening approach, Ennis said, "You son-of-a-bitch, I bout died a thousand times…" but he couldn't finish.

"Ennis Del Mar, you horse's cunt," Jack replied. "Don't you know there wasn't a morning go by I didn't wake up thinking about you. There wasn't a night I couldn't sleep for dreamin' about you. And there wasn't a day I couldn't a run right off the road thinking I'd never see you again. Why, there were times if a bull trampled me, split my head wide open, it would a been a blessing."

Ennis pulled over. By now the sun had set well behind the mountains. When the headlights were switched off, not even the moon and stars could betray them to any traveler coming over the hill.

Jack knew what to do. He slid over towards Ennis, turned to face him, and let him get as good a look at him as possible in the shadows of the cab. He reached for him, and Ennis took both his hands, weaved his fingers with Jack's, and held him, their flesh melting from the prolonged touch. They didn't notice when the engine shut down of its own accord. Presently, the silence transformed into a shared memory of some perfect night on Brokeback, when they were just boys, and loved each other to death, and didn't have wives nor kids nor a worry about providing a roof over their heads. On Brokeback, the stars were enough.

And finally Ennis moved to Jack, and Jack moved backwards against the door so that Ennis would come closer. He pressed himself against Jack, still holding his hands, and kept pressing closer until he was holding Jack's arms over his head, laying his cheek on Jack's cheek, and rubbing there against him with his face, so gently. There were not even any crickets, just the sound of their sighing, and then Ennis choking back tears. Jack moved his face until their lips were touching, anticipating the electric jolt of Ennis's tongue on his.

It was a long, devouring kiss, wet and noisy, but nothing like the violent embrace of an hour ago. They could take their time, because there was no one there to stop them. They might as well have been on a mountain somewhere with nobody around for miles, just sheep and a rustling tumbleweed scratching its way through the sage brush.


End file.
